


penitence

by ribbonelle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbonelle/pseuds/ribbonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now, catching sight of Wasp sitting at the table, all words left him. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t know what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	penitence

**Author's Note:**

> reposting certain pieces from my collective 'Covalence' because vanity!
> 
> so in this, longarm/shockwave was exposed, and wasp was brought back to cybertron. he’s not doing so well overall, so they put him in rehab. so he never met blackarachnia, never got to be waspinator. this isnt as good as i wanted it to be but ive thought about it for so long. short, and a little nonsensical but ehh here

He couldn’t remember feeling this nervous, not since his early Elite Guard days. The first few years as a rookie had been especially gruelling; how he had to be alert and wary all the time, had to watch what he said, what he did, what he thought of.

It had been years since the heavy feel of dread low in his tanks. He doesn’t quite remember it feeling this intense, though.

Ironhide stepped into the white, white room, his fists curling. He had made his way to the Iaconian Rehabilitation Institute, asked to meet a specific patient. He had waited till they brought the mech out to the visitation room.

But now, catching sight of Wasp sitting at the table, all words left him. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t know what to say.

Wasp.

His paintjob was different. He seemed more mature now, yet vulnerable at the same time. There was a blue collar around his neck, something the institute had installed, most likely. He looked so small. When the downcast optics lifted to finally meet Ironhide’s, the sudden fury in Wasp’s morphing faceplates was something Ironhide couldn’t even have imagined. The purple of his optics were unfamiliar, no longer the bright blue Ironhide remembered.

Somehow, Wasp’s sudden emotion snapped Ironhide out of it. It was as if he was facing someone in need of interrogation; his spark settled because it was familiar to confront a mech in need of questioning. It wasn’t till he had sat down opposite of his friend that he felt guilty for thinking of Wasp as a criminal. He had been guilty of that for years now.

Words abandoned him, again.

“…Hi, Wasp.”

The screech of Wasp’s vocalizer surprised him, “Ironhide. Why ‘Hide here? What do  _you_  want?”

Wasp’s speech pattern was improving, the therapist had said, his processing abilities slowly returning, and with time, he’d be himself again.

But would he really, Ironhide thought. Rehab wouldn’t nullify the experience he had been through, the mistakes they had made.

Ironhide tried again, “I wanted to visit you, Wasp.”

He supposed the barking sound from Wasp’s mouth was a laugh, but it sounded hollow, “Visit? Wasp’s been here for a month. Too busy with Elite Guard business, right? Figures.”

“They didn’t let me visit you before, it wasn’t that I didn’t—“ Ironhide cut himself off, realizing how defensive he was being. This was not about him, it was about Wasp. They had wronged the mech in the worst way possible, and they were _friends_.

“I…How are you doing, Wasp? How are you feeling?”

Wasp practically spat at him, “Why do  _you_  care? Who even are you? Wasp doesn’t know who you are, and you don’t know who Wasp is. The moment Wasp entered the stockade, Wasp died. Right? No one came in to see Wasp, no one thought about Wasp. Dead. Right, Ironhide?”

Ironhide shook his head, gripping the edges of the table, as if that would make a difference, “No. That isn’t true. I thought you were—“

“Thought  _what_? Wasp was a traitor?!” the strain on his vocalizer was audible, the noise making Ironhide cringe.

He remembered Wasp’s voice as it was, a long time ago. He liked Wasp’s voice. He liked Wasp. Did it matter now?

No.

“Wasp told you! Wasp told everyone!” the mini was nearly screaming now, purple optics blazing, “Wasp was innocent, and you took Bumblebee’s word over Wasp’s? You watched them take me away and you did  _nothing_.”

Something was sparking up; there was the faint smell of ozone in the air, and Wasp had slumped in his chair. His hands were on his face, covering his optics.

Ironhide was gritting his dentae so hard they’d crack if he added any more pressure. There was nothing he could do. He had done nothing, he was still doing nothing. They were friends, and then they weren’t. Ironhide wasn’t even sure what he had hoped for anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Wasp didn’t respond, not for a while. His fingers eventually spread and the purple of his optics were flickering, “Not enough. Doesn’t matter. You don’t know what they did to me. You don’t know what Wasp has been through.”

There were two mechs standing by the door of the visitation room; orderlies; and they approached Ironhide and Wasp now. One gently placed a hand on Wasp’s shoulder, while the other addressed Ironhide.

“His vitals are spiking, Sir. Any more stress, his processor would shut down. We wouldn’t want that. We should bring him to his quarters now.”

Wasp stood up right away, shrugging the hand off of his shoulder, and left without looking back. Ironhide sat there alone for a while, staring at the door Wasp had exited through, as if he’d come back. Not likely.

He left eventually, his spark heavy. Was there anything he could do to fix things? He doubted it. Guilt and pity and sorrow were at the forefront of his mind, and Ironhide had never felt so helpless. What had they done?

Ironhide checked out of the Institute, as was required of all visitors. The femme behind the counter watched him carefully; he didn’t care; before speaking up with a soft voice, “Mr. Ironhide? You are a member of the Elite Guard, correct?”

He nodded.

“Before you leave, it would be great if you could refer someone to act as patient 137-Y’s caretaker. Mr. Wasp? We had asked for that information from the Elite Guard when he was admitted here before, but there had been no response. We had tried searching for his friends or family, but no one came up in the system, as well. He will be well enough to leave the facility one day, and we do need someone to be his caretaker, someone who we can contact. Or perhaps you could express our need for this information to a superior officer? Here’s the application form.” She pushed a datapad towards Ironhide.

Ironhide paused. He still didn’t know what to do. It would be a long journey for Wasp to even be remotely alright again. It would take longer for him to regain Wasp’s trust. They may never be friends, like before.

But maybe this would be a start.

Ironhide turned the datapad on, and filled out the form with his personal information.


End file.
